


Behold, the Queen

by Velace



Series: Random Moments [41]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Some Humor, implied BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 22:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velace/pseuds/Velace
Summary: A glimpse into the story of how a marriage proposal turned Emma Swan into a sex slave.





	Behold, the Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FairyTaleArchetypes (Archetype)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archetype/gifts).



> Yeah, I don't know where this came from. I figured it'd be light and fluffy, and then Regina took over.

"Regina."

"Emma."

"I need your help."

"Hmm." The number of times she has heard those words from that mouth are innumerable. The desperation is new. Flicking through the reports on her desk, Regina sniffs and drawls, "How may I be of service to you today, Miss Swan?"

"We need to date," Emma blurts.

Blinking, Regina pulls the phone from her ear and stares at it for a good, solid minute. _Date? Why on ear_ — Head shaking, she returns it to her ear. She wishes she could be surprised, but really she's not. The things Emma has asked her to do, the things she _has_ done for the sake of their friendship and, occasionally, her own amusement; what the hell. "Trouble in paradise?"

"You don't…" Emma pauses, a heavy sigh coming through the receiver. "Never mind," she continues. "He _proposed_ , Regina."

Immediately understanding the problem, she grimaces. Though, her mind helpfully and swiftly points out; why is it _her_ problem? "I fail to see—"

"Do you want me to say yes? Because I will," Emma threatens, "just to spite you. Picture it, Henry calling Hook d—"

"Don't you dare," Regina growls. The rumble from her throat even startles her for a moment. She coughs softly, recovering. Henry would never, but the mere thought of it. She shudders. "Why me?"

That is, she's starting to realize, _the_ question. Ever since she met Emma Swan that fateful night. _Why me_ plays on a loop in her head; the cemetery where they punched each other in the face. The mine when she began to understand her attraction to heroic, stubborn-headed, _blonde — so so blonde —_ women.

Or _woman_ , specifically.

Not to mention the diamond incident; the sweet, beautiful idiot.

"… told him we slept together but—"

Coming back to her mid-ramble, Regina realizes she must have spaced out. Her first thought is _who slept together_ but the puzzle pieces slip into place before she can make a fool of herself and interrupt Emma to ask.

She tugs the phone from her ear once more, part in surprise but mostly in outrage. If Emma is going to go around town spreading rumours they'd slept together, they could at least be _true_. She would also appreciate the courtesy of being able to tell the woman's parents herself.

Bringing the phone back to her ear, Emma is still rambling. "Miss Swan," she tries to interrupt, to concede. She'll play Emma's silly little game, up until it's no longer a game and she can correct the atrocity that is these false rumours.

"Please, Regina?"

Begging. Emma Swan is _begging_.

Oh, how she has longed for this day.

"What's in it for me?"

If there's more begging to be done, she can draw this out a little while longer. Emma will suspect what she's doing eventually but for the time being, she'll enjoy it while it lasts.

 

* * *

 

 

"You look good on your knees, dear."

Emma slowly turns to glare up at her. It's been three days and she's never been worked so hard in her life by someone who is supposedly her (no longer) secret lover. At this point, she'd have preferred giving Regina sexual favours to the nightmare that is cleaning their disgusting teenage son's bedroom.

She found a sock earlier. It now sits as a pile of ash in the corner, along with her appetite. She also possesses a strong curiosity of whether or not it's possible to snort bleach like one might cocaine. Would it burn her nostrils? Turn the hairs white? More importantly, would it shoot through her nose straight into her brain and kill the cells that remember the instance in which she'd found said sock.

"I hate you." Regina smiles, her expression never having been so serene as the one she wears in this moment. Emma almost surrenders to this humiliation from the look alone. Almost. She catches herself at the last second, scowling. "Your son is revolting."

Innocently fluttering her lashes, Regina drawls, "I wonder where he gets that from."

Emma grimaces. "I'm cleaner than you are." Regina scoffs. "What? I am!"

"I've seen your office."

"And I've seen your bedroom," she retorts. She'd cleaned the damn thing an hour ago. Regina isn't gross like Henry is, but apparently she really likes the look of her clothes on the floor.

Not that Emma can blame her.

In certain circumstances, she'd like it too.

Waving dismissively, Regina pivots. "Come," she says. "It's time for dinner."

Having felt the tingle of magic on the back of her neck, Emma looks around and instantly scowls; the room is spotless. Lurching from her position on the floor to follow Regina from the room, she declares, "I _really_ hate you."

Twisting, walking backwards, Regina pouts. "And to think I made you my special bolognaise sauce."

Emma nearly salivates. "You didn't…"

"Would I lie about bolognaise?" Regina presses a hand to her chest, mock wounded that she would even suggest such a thing. "I know how seriously you take your food."

"I…" Emma huffs. She's so damn weak for this woman. "—hate you slightly less?"

Regina smiles coyly and questions, "What if I added cheesecake?"

She does salivate this time, needing to swallow before she speaks. "I kind of like you?" She lifts a hand, pinching thumb and forefinger together, no less than half an inch apart. "This much?"

Pausing just before the stairs, Regina considers the space thoughtfully for a minute, then hums, brow raised. "Caramel cheesecake?"

Forget salivating; Emma _moans_. "Oh god."

Regina straightens, her hand on the banister. "That sounded _interesting_ ," she purrs, eyes narrowing as they darken slightly.

Emma bites her lip, not missing the spark of lust in them. Over the last three days, she's become well-acquainted with the look, and it excites her every time. She chuckles though, because it's probably more appropriate than attacking the mother of her son right there at the top of the stairs, and teases, "Marry me?"

"Only after we've dated at least six months, and lived together for three." Regina winks— terribly, but Emma doesn't have the heart to tell her that.

Terrible as it is, it's also fucking adorable.

"That's all very specific," she notes distractedly, transfixed by those eyes.

"I'm not getting any younger, but I need to know if I can tolerate you in my personal space for long periods." Regina reasons before she smirks. "Speaking of periods, are you the moody sort or—"

Emma breathes out a laugh. "Oh my god."

 

* * *

 

 

"Mmm." Regina arches from the bed and into the warm, wet mouth at her breast. She groans, "I should have made you my sex slave."

"You should have," Emma agrees, teeth nibbling as hands grope and caress sweat-dampened flesh. "I could please you for days at a time," she murmurs, licking and sucking between the words. "Maybe forever. Kill us. I love fucking you."

Legs wrapping around her waist, Regina grabs her by the hair and pulls her up into a long, languid kiss. She hums as they part, grinding slick heat against her stomach. "Mine," she declares, biting down on her lip.

"Yours," Emma assures, moaning. "All yours."

 

* * *

 

 

"Mom!" Tugging on the collar beneath the shirt she'd hastily thrown on, Emma skids to a stop in the foyer. Hands out as she slowly approaches her mother, she says, "Mom, I can explain."

Snow's eyes widen in horror. "Please," she begs, taking a great big hulking gasp of breath. " _Please,"_ she repeats, "don't _ever_ explain. I don't want to know."

Deflating as her mother then jerks open the door and flees out into the broad light of day, Emma turns to the sound of heels on the stairs. "And they call _me_ a drama queen."

She sighs, but her eyes take in Regina because they know not what else to do—not when her hair is mussed and she's looking as freshly fucked as she does.

"Come back to bed, pet," Regina purrs, seductive and sweet as she pulls apart the ties of her robe to reveal the perfection that is her naked beneath. "I wasn't done playing."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, not sorry.


End file.
